


Mechanics of the Stars

by der_tanzer



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty walks in on something he wasn’t supposed to see. Chekov is very glad he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mechanics of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oddmonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddmonster/gifts).



> Minor non-con to set the scene.  
> For Oddmonster, who kept my life warm until I got back.  
> 

Montgomery Scott had many sleepless nights aboard the _Enterprise_. Not because he was unhappy, although he sometimes was, or because he was given to insomnia, although it sometimes felt that way. Mostly when he didn’t sleep it was simply because he’d rather be working. There was so much to do with, and for, the fabulous starship he called his home. Very rarely he found himself feeling lonely, but it wasn’t enough to keep him up nights. Not with _Enterprise_ for company.

On this night he returned to engineering long after his shift ended, just to see what was going on. He believed his crew was competent and capable, but in his secret heart he was certain she needed him. Nothing could possibly go as well without him as it did under his watchful eye and careful hands. He was surprised to see that many of the stations were empty, half of main engineering abandoned, and the few crewmembers present didn’t seem to want to look at him.

“Where is everyone?” Scotty asked, more baffled than angry. “Was there a fire drill I dinna know aboot?”

Many sets of eyes dropped to their consoles or all the way down to the steel deck. Scotty fixed a furious glare on the nearest red shirt, a young ensign who blushed and couldn’t answer his questions. He took a step closer, made the young man raise his head, and asked again what happened to the rest of the crew. The ensign dropped his gaze but twitched a nod back over his shoulder. Toward the storage room, the door of which was always closed, but showed by the red lights on the panel that it was locked now, too. He realized then that everyone’s attention seemed to be on that door, their ears pricked toward it, their body language pointing it out like road signs for those who knew how to read them.

Suddenly frightened, Scotty ran to the storeroom and punched the code to unlock it. He didn’t know what was in there, but his instinct was danger. Could the men have had a mutiny? Could they have killed someone by accident and tried to hide it? No, not half the crew. There must be six men missing from the shift. It didn’t cross his mind to _not_ open the door until it was already too late.

The sound of laughter met him first and his heart started beating again. Then he heard a low, frantic, “ _No_. Please, n—” suddenly cut off. Scotty stepped around a stack of crates and his heart stopped once more. Later he would wonder that he’d survived the shock. But right now he wasn’t thinking about himself. All of his attention was focused on Ensign Chekov, shirtless and on his knees before a laughing Lt. Jeffs who was seated on a crate in the middle of the room. Jeffs’ hands were gripping the back of Chekov’s head while Ensign Franks held his wrists together, hiked up between his shoulder blades, and Lt. Tull worked his uniform pants down off his squirming hips. Ensigns Decker and Turner and Lt. Brooks stood by watching avidly right up until one of them registered the hiss of the door sliding closed.  
Chekov felt their grips relax and jerked his head free, crying out plaintively, “ _Help_. Meester Scott, help me.”

Ensign Franks jumped back, dropping Chekov’s arms and letting him fall bonelessly to the deck. Lt. Jeffs looked up, zipping his fly at the same time just in case the Chief Engineer hadn’t noticed. For a few seconds there was silence, broken only by Chekov’s ragged breathing. Scotty shook with rage but somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

“All of ya get over there, _now_ ,” he ordered, gesturing to the far side of the room. The six guilty crewmembers shuffled father away from the door, leaving Chekov to tremble alone on the cold steel deck. For now Scotty had to leave him be, though every second was a dagger in his heart. As much as he wanted to go to his friend, pick him up and comfort him, he couldn’t treat Chekov like a child in front of these men. Instead he turned to the comm panel by the door and called for a security team.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Ensign Turner protested abruptly. “I just came in to see what was going on. I was just about to call for help when you came in.”

Chekov flinched and Scotty, losing his cool for the first time since walking into this nightmare, roared, “ _Shut it_.”

“Sir, I swear…”

“I said _shut_ it,” Scotty repeated, his tone quieter but somehow much more frightening. Once he was sure there would be no more out of them, he went to Chekov and gripped his upper arms gently, urging him to his feet without force. He could see now that the young, muscular ensign had a black eye and understood a little more about how this had happened. He guided Chekov toward the crate where Lt. Jeffs had been violating him a minute ago and sat him down so he could put forth an illusion of dignity. Chekov braced his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. His lean body trembled, but Scotty knew he wasn’t crying and it filled him with pride.

The silence was broken for good when the door hissed open again and a five man security team stormed in, ready for anything from a mutiny to an alien invasion. What they got was an angry Scotsman, a half-dressed ensign, and six members of the engineering crew shuffling their feet in a combination of fear and defiance. Instantly, their faces went hard and expressionless. The team leader drew his phaser and set it on stun.

“Take these men to th’ brig,” Scotty commanded. “Keep them separate, no talking ta each other or anyone else, an’ do’na be questioning them yerselves. The captain’ll be taking over soon.”

“Yes sir,” the team leader said and the five of them manhandled the six engineers roughly through the door. As soon as they were gone he hit another button on the console and requested the captain and Mr. Spock to respond to a personnel emergency in Engineering.

The atmosphere remained tense and uncomfortable once they were alone. Chekov kept his head down and Scotty hardly knew how to approach him. He walked over very slowly and touched the boy’s shoulder lightly. Chekov flinched away without looking up.

“Please, sir,” he whispered. “Do not touch me, please.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chekov. Are ya a’right? Do ya need th’ doctor?” he asked, stumbling over the words in embarrassment. They had been friends almost since the beginning, working and drinking and laughing together, quietly awed by each other’s brilliance. This was the first time they hadn’t been able to talk and Scotty was terribly afraid the shame of it would ruin their camaraderie for good.

“Nyet,” Chekov said sharply. Then his tone softened. “I am fine. I do not need ze doctor.”

“Are ya sure, lad? Yer not hurt?”

“No, sir. You…” he paused and took a breath. “Zey did not have time.” Scotty didn’t need to be told that that wasn’t true. He was hurt, just not in way that Dr. McCoy could fix.

“Good. Tha’s good,” Scotty murmured. He wanted so badly to touch the boy again, to put a friendly arm around him and feel him relax as he had so many times before, but Chekov’s body language couldn’t be clearer. Touching him now might mean he never could again.

Scotty told Kirk and Spock what he’d seen, and Chekov confirmed it with nods and the occasional soft _yes sir_ or _no sir_. He filled in the blanks as well, how he’d come down to Main Engineering to see if Mr. Scott was around and been cornered by Lt. Jeffs and Ensign Franks instead. It started with some ribald jokes, a few semi-painful slaps and pinches, and then they were dragging him into the storeroom while the others pretended not to see. He was ordered not to say anything and, he admitted with deep shame, he probably wouldn’t have if Mr. Scott hadn’t caught them in the act. It wasn’t a story he wanted spread around.

“It won’t be, Mr. Chekov,” Jim Kirk assured him firmly. “I’ll have those men off the ship tomorrow, and out of Star Fleet by next week.”

“But zere vill be a trial. It must go before Star Fleet command.”

“Not in a case like this. I’ll review the security recordings on the computer and if they support your story, which I don’t doubt they will, I have the authority to act as I see fit. To get them out of Star Fleet, it only has to go before a panel of three Admirals.”

“Really? But—vhy? Vhy am I entitled to special treatment?”

“It’s not you, kid. That’s how Star Fleet handles—um—sex offences.” Even Jim Kirk was uncomfortable, ducking his head and running his hand nervously through his hair. He’d had to do this twice before, but never with a male victim. Never with a member of his bridge crew, a man who was more than a photo in a personnel file or a name to greet in passing. “They’ll serve a couple of years in the stockade on the nearest Federation planet and then be returned to Earth with Dishonorable Discharges and Sex Offender flags on their permanent records. The details of the crime won’t be available, and your name will never appear in public records.”

“You know all of zis for sure?” he asked hopefully.

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened. But you never heard about the others, did you?”

“No, sir,” he said, surprised. “On ze _Enterprise_?”

“That’s right. Star Fleet doesn’t tolerate harassment, abuse, or gossip regarding either.” Kirk felt a little more confident when Chekov finally looked up and met his eyes. He was still blushing, his eyes glittering with tears that Jim wouldn’t see shed, but for the first time he was becoming involved in the situation that revolved around him.

“Spock, I need the names of the crewmembers on duty who stood by and let this happen. They’ll be transferring off _Enterprise_ as soon as they can be replaced. Sooner, and with full Star Fleet discharges, if they talk about this to anyone. Make sure that’s clear.”

“Yes, sir,” Spock replied crisply and went out. There was no question that he and the captain were in complete agreement and what Kirk promised would come true. When Kirk and Spock were of one mind, they were unstoppable. 

“Mr. Scott, will you please escort Mr. Chekov to his quarters?”

“Aye, sir.” 

Chekov finally got to his feet, sliding subtly toward the door. “I vill be on shift tomorrow, Keptin.”

“Good. Just one more thing, Mr. Chekov. None of this secrecy is about you doing anything wrong. Understand? If you need to take some time off, if you want to talk about it, you go ahead. We’re trying to protect your privacy; you don’t have to protect theirs.”

“Zank you, Keptin,” he said quietly. “I am all right.” With that he stepped through the door and walked boldly past the group of engineers who were getting a calm but thorough reaming from Mr. Spock. He kept his head up and his eyes forward, aware of Scotty beside him but not yet ready to acknowledge his friend. Only once they were in the corridor did he let out a great sigh and say something real.

“Zank you, Monty. I do not know vhat I vould have done if you had not been zere.”

“Do’na be thanking me, lad. I’m just glad I could no’ sleep tonight.”

“As am I. But I vish I had been sleeping,” he added with a rueful laugh.

“Aye, I bet ya do.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to Chekov’s quarters. He wasn’t sure why Scotty had been ordered to escort him, but even in his shame he was grateful for the friendly presence. At the door, he paused and the silence nearly turned awkward again.

“Vould you like to come in?” he asked shyly. “Perhaps a drink vould help us both sleep better.”

“If ye’ve still got some o’ that good scotch,” he replied with a wink. 

“I believe you left a leetle.” Chekov tapped the entry code and the door slid open. “You know vhere it is. I am going to have a shower first.”

Scotty didn’t blame him at all. When he returned in his pajamas fifteen minutes later there was a glass of vodka on the desk waiting for him.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Scotty said as the boy settled into a chair with his drink. His tone indicated it wouldn’t be an easy question. Chekov swallowed half the vodka before nodding.

“Why were ya in Engineering tonight? Ye said ya were looking for me…”

“Da. Often you are down there after your shift. I thought ve could vork on ze communication transducers.”

“Ah. I was gonna ask ya aboot that tomorrow. Thought we could get in some work before yer shift.”

“Ve still can.”

“Aye, good.” Scotty poured a touch more into his glass and watched Chekov do the same. They sipped their drinks for a moment and then the boy cleared his throat in preparation for the real topic of conversation.

“Monty, vhy do you zink zey did zat to me?”

Scotty, taken aback by the form the question had assumed, fumbled a few seconds for an answer. But Chekov didn’t drop his eyes this time.

“I don’ know, Pavel. They’re jus’ bullies, I guess.”

“Da, I know zat. But vhy _me_? Iz it because I am young? Do zey zink I am child, or just zat I vould…enjoy it?”

“They did no’ mean for ya to enjoy it,” Scotty said grimly. “If ya want my honest opinion, they jus’ thought ya were too young an’ too pretty no’ ta make a play for. It just got outta hand.”

“You zink I am pretty?” he asked, blushing so prettily that Scotty laughed.

“Aye, o’ course. Yer too pretty for even a straight man to refuse.”

Chekov shook his head in disgust.

“Straight men are zo irritating.”

“Aye,” Scotty agreed without thinking. Chekov giggled suddenly, pleased to be on the same page with his friend at last, and Scotty downed the rest of his drink before bursting out laughing. It wasn’t a secret which team Chekov played for, but it was widely assumed that Scotty’s heart belonged only to _Enterprise_.

“Iz zat vhy you tolerate my company zo vell?”

“Och, Pavel, yer my favorite person on th’ ship. Have ya no’ figured tha’ out by now?”

“Nyet. But iz good to hear. Do I need to tell you zat you are mine as vell?”

“No. But it’s good ta hear,” he said with a sweet smile. Chekov finished his vodka and rose gracefully from his seat.

“Vould you like to stay wit’ me tonight, Monty? Perhaps ve vould sleep better together.”

“Aye, perhaps.” Scotty’s voice shook just a little with the weight of the moment, but wee Chekov seemed so calm and sure. Maybe, he decided, the boy just didn’t want to be alone tonight. Likely he’d have made the same offer to Sulu or Uhura or any of his friends who happened to be here. It was just luck that Scotty had found him first.

***

Chekov watched Scotty get his replicated pajamas and go into the head, pleased that dignity was being maintained all around. It wasn’t the first time they’d spent the night together, but it would be the first that didn’t involve working or just losing track of time. They were entering a more intimate phase of their friendship—they had no choice about that. In the face of Chekov’s humiliation, it was either get closer or avoid each other altogether. But he had already been pushed around too much tonight. No one, not even the Chief Engineer he idolized, would be allowed to push him further.

Scotty returned and did a bit of a double-take at the sight of the boy already in bed. But that was probably easier. There wouldn’t be that awkward moment where one of them had to suggest it. There was a different awkward moment instead, one that Chekov handled admirably.

“Sleep wit’ me, Monty? I vill rest more easily if you are close.”

“I think I will, too.” He got into bed and relaxed a little when the boy moved closer. He slipped his arm around the finely muscled shoulders and felt a soft sigh against his neck as Pavel settled in.

“Alrigh’, laddy?”

There was a brief pause, followed by a deeper sigh.

“I vas zo afraid,” he whispered. “Monty, I vas _zo_ afraid.”

“I know ya was,” Scotty murmured, wrapping his other arm around him.

“Zat—zat awful Lt. Jeffs…”

“It’s alrigh’, Pasha,” he breathed, stroking the soft curls with one hand. Telling him that he could share the story or not, it was his choice. Scotty would be there either way.

“He took my shirt. I vas embarrassed to try to escape wit’ zose other men outside. Ze vones who heard me yell and did nothing. I should have run anyway.”

“Could ya really? Escape six men working together?”

“I should have tried,” he insisted. His body shook but his voice was strong and still he didn’t cry. “But I did not. Zat awful lieutenant knocked me down and…and Ensign Franks grabbed my arms… Ze next zing I knew, it…he…he put it in my _mouth_. I should have bitten him. I vish I _had_.”

“Ye’d have got away wi’ it, Pasha. But ye’d have felt bad tomorrow. Next day at the latest.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

“Is tha’ when I got there?”

“Da. Lt. Tull vas just getting started. He…he hardly touched me.”

Scotty caught his breath at the memory of Lt. Tull pulling off Chekov’s pants, his arms tightening unconsciously around the trembling body. One long, slender arm stretched across Scotty’s chest and hugged him harder as he was hugged harder in return.

“They won’t ever touch ya again, wee Pasha. Those bits o’ filth’ll be off our ship before ye get up for breakfast.”

“Monty?” he whispered, his voice strained by the pressure on his lungs. Scotty relaxed his hold a little, thinking that was what he was going to ask. But again he was surprised. “I wery much like vhen you touch me.”

“Do ya, now?”

“Da. You are zo gentle… I alvays hope, vhen ve are together, zat you vill find a reason.”

“If I’d known that, I’d’ve found more.”

“You know now. I…I hope I am not being too forward, but zat iz how I feel.”

“I am no’ complaining,” Scotty said with a gentle laugh. Chekov raised his head, searching for his eyes in the dim light, and kissed him softly. Scotty’s hand tightened on his back, but the one in his hair stayed light and easy, letting Pavel lead the kiss. It started out slow and tentative, the two of them exploring, learning all they could before moving on. Again, Pavel was the one who took the next step, pulling away and coaxing Scotty to follow. 

Down on his back, the heavier man on top of him, Pavel realized he was every bit as helpless as he had been in the storeroom in Engineering. But he wasn’t afraid. Monty was his friend, his partner in so many projects, his companion through so many sleepless nights. What was this if not one more?

“I love you,” Pavel whispered as Monty gently bit his neck. “Iz…iz zat okay?”

“If it’s okay for me to love ya.”

Apparently it was. He slid his hands up Scotty’s back with firm palms before tugging his shirt off over his head. In that moment Pavel found the confidence to bare himself and they undressed each other slowly before Scotty eased him down again. It was a careful balance he strove to maintain, not wanting the boy to serve him by being on top and at the same time determined not to put anything in him while holding him down. As much as Pavel insisted he was not hurt, or even particularly traumatized, Scotty wasn’t about to take a chance.

There was only one way to handle this, and it would require keeping control of the wriggling, squirming, sweat-slick puppy of a man whose natural exuberance kept threatening to bowl him over. He pinned Pavel with one hand on his belly and kissed him breathless, then took advantage of his momentary weakness to lick and bite a gentle trail down his neck. He lapped salty sweat from the hollows of Pavel’s collarbones and tickled his ribs when he tried, laughing, to get his teeth into Scotty’s shoulder.

Working lower, he ran his tongue over one well-defined pec and drew the hard nipple into his mouth. Pavel’s moans took on a whining quality and his squirms changed to an abrupt stiffening of his spine as he arched his back for more. Scotty slipped one hand beneath him, supporting the supple curve of his back, and moved to the other nipple as his free hand stroked Pavel’s flat belly. His fingertips brushed soft, shower-damp curls, and suddenly Pavel’s hard member was in his palm. The boy thrust against him, whispering a pleading litany of Russian with the word Monty sprinkled throughout.

“Is tha’ good, wee Pasha?” he murmured, stroking and fondling in search of what his young lover liked best.

“Da, da,” Chekov panted and the rest was lost in Russian babble. But Scotty understood. Once again, body language was all they needed. He threw off the blankets and lowered his head, taking the plump, salty tip of his lover’s shaft in his mouth. Pavel panted and moaned, gripping Scotty’s head as his own had been gripped by Lt. Jeffs, but Scotty’s enthusiasm was a far cry from Chekov’s fearful resistance. He came hard, whimpering and sobbing Monty’s name, thrusting frantically as shuddering spasms overwhelmed him.

Scotty kept sucking and teasing, nursing him through it until Pavel collapsed, trembling but alight with joy. A soft kiss on his chest made him shiver, his testicles contracting as if he might come again. As soon as he was able to think at all, he looked up into Monty’s bright blue eyes and grinned.

“Oh, _l’ubimaya_ , my darling love,” he sighed happily.

“Are ya sure yer alrigh’?” Scotty asked, feeling guilty about his own desire to come.

“Wery sure.” Pavel’s voice was strong but teasing, and he wrapped one long-fingered hand around Scotty’s cock as he spoke. “Iz you who are in need, da?”

“Ye don’ have to…”

“Shh. Zere iz no have to wit’ us, Monty. Only vhat ve vant, and I vant zis.”

But Scotty hadn’t been far off. Pavel might want to do something sweet for him, but he would do it on his terms. He pressed Scotty back and climbed on top of him, cradling the thick shaft against his own taut belly. Scotty moaned as Pavel rocked against him, whispering what sounded like a Russian poem. It was soft and rhythmic, as sweet as the soft lips in his ear, but the hand on his cock, the friction of the sweaty body on his, kept him from concentrating too hard on words he didn’t know. Then Pavel was saying his name again in that same rhythmic way, matching it to the strokes of his palm, and Scotty came with a strangled cry.

“Are you alright?” Pavel asked, unable to resist teasing him just a little.

“Aye, Pasha. I’m jus’ fine,” he grinned. “But I’m sorry I dinna have a song for you.”

“Ve Russians are more romantic zan ve get credit for.” He slid off onto the bed and snuggled under Scotty’s arm again. Now that he’d found his place there, he never wanted to leave.

“One of has ta be, I reckon. I am no’ good at fancy words an’ romance. I’m jus’ a mechanic, wee darlin’, not a poet.”

“Nyet,” he said, soft and slow. “Not _just_ a mechanic. Ve are ze same, Monty. Mechanics of ze stars. And I vill be romantic for both of us.”


End file.
